“Sure there be!” cried Mike Sikoria. “One time in Cedar Mountain we go see boss, say air-course blocked. What you think he do them fellers? He hit them one lick in nose, he kick them three times in behind, he run them out!”
“Well,” said Hal, “if there’s going to be anything like that, we must be ready.”
“What you do?” demanded Jerry.
It was time for Hal’s leadership. “If he hits me one lick in the nose,” he declared, “I’ll hit him one lick in the nose, that’s all.”
There was a bit of applause at this. That was the way to talk! Hal tasted the joys of his leadership. But then his fine self-confidence met with a sudden check—a “lick in the nose” of his pride, so to speak. There came a woman’s voice from the corner, low and grim: “Yes! And get ye’self killed for all your trouble!”
He looked towards Mary Burke, and saw her vivid face, flushed and frowning. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Would you have us turn and run away?”
“I would that!” said she. “Rather than have ye killed, I would! What’ll ye do if he pulls his gun on ye?”
“Would he pull his gun on a committee?”
Old Mike broke in again. “One time in Barela—ain’t I told you how I lose my cars? I tell weigh-boss somebody steal my cars, and he pull gun on me, and he say, ‘Get the hell off that tipple, you old billy-goat, I shoot you full of holes!’ ”
Among his classmates at college, Hal had been wont to argue that the proper way to handle a burglar was to call out to him, saying, “Go ahead, old chap, and help yourself; there’s nothing here I’m willing to get shot for.” What was the value of anything a burglar could steal, in comparison with a man’s own life? And surely, one would have thought, this was a good time to apply the plausible theory. But for some reason Hal failed even to remember it. He was going ahead, precisely as if a ton of coal per day was the one thing of consequence in life!
“What shall we do?” he asked. “We don’t want to back out.”
But even while he asked the question, Hal was realising that Mary was right. His was the attitude of the leisure-class person, used to having his own way; but Mary, though she had a temper too, was pointing the lesson of self-control. It was the second time tonight that she had injured his pride. But now he forgave her in his admiration; he had always known that Mary had a mind and could help him! His admiration was increased by what John Edstrom was saying—they must do nothing that would injure the cause of the “big union,” and so they must resolve to offer no physical resistance, no matter what might be done to them.
There was vehement argument on the other side. “We fight! We fight!” declared Old Mike, and cried out suddenly, as if in anticipation of the pain in his injured nose. “You say me stand that?”
“If you fight back,” said Edstrom, “we’ll all get the worst of it. The company will say we started the trouble, and put us in the wrong. We’ve got to make up our mind to rely on moral force.”
So, after more discussion, it was agreed; every man would keep his temper—that is, if he could! So they shook hands all round, pledging themselves to stand firm. But, when the meeting was declared adjourned, and they stole out one by one into the night, they were a very sober and anxious lot of conspirators.
X
Hal slept but little that night. Amid the sounds of the snoring of eight of Reminitsky’s other boarders, he lay going over in his mind various things which might happen on the morrow. Some of them were far from pleasant things; he tried to picture himself with a broken nose, or with tar and feathers on him. He recalled his theory as to the handling of burglars. The “G.F.C.” was a burglar of gigantic and terrible proportions; surely this was a time to call out, “Help yourself!” But instead of doing it, Hal thought about Edstrom’s ants, and wondered at the power which made them stay in line.
When morning came, he went up into the mountains, where a man may wander and renew his moral force. When the sun had descended behind the mountain-tops, he descended also, and met Edstrom and Sikoria in front of the company office.
They nodded a greeting, and Edstrom told Hal that his wife had died during the day. There being no undertaker in North Valley, he had arranged for a woman friend to take the body down to Pedro, so that he might be free for the interview with Cartwright. Hal put his hand on the old man’s shoulder, but attempted no word of condolence; he saw that Edstrom had faced the trouble and was ready for duty.
“Come ahead,” said the old man, and the three went into the office. While a clerk took their message to the inner office, they stood for a couple of minutes, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, and turning their caps in their hands in the familiar manner of the lowly.
At last Mr. Cartwright appeared in the doorway, his small sparely-built figure eloquent of sharp authority. “Well, what’s this?” he inquired.
“If you please,” said Edstrom, “we’d like to speak to you. We’ve decided, sir, that we want to have a check-weighman.”
“What?” The word came like the snap of a whip.
“We’d like to have a check-weighman, sir.”
There was a moment’s silence. “Come in here.” They filed into the inner office, and he shut the door.
“Now. What’s this?”
Edstrom repeated his words again.
“What put that notion into your heads?”
“Nothing, sir; only we thought we’d be better satisfied.”
“You think you’re not getting your weight?”
“Well, sir, you see—some of the men—we think it would be better if we had the
